Chaos. It was everywhere. All around him people were screaming, searching for an escape, or for loved ones. Fear seemed to resonate from each and every being there.

The building was dimly lit, with several extravagant chandeliers hanging near the ceiling. The walls were embroidered with fine tapestries and the floor was covered by a rich crimson carpet. Large, rectangular windows were placed around the room, which allowed the bright sunlight to filter through.

He tried to move, but seemed unable to. A loud crash suddenly occurred to his right. And several figures entered the room.

He screamed a warning to his friends, Alph and Theo. They were there with him, but just as shell shocked. People ran back and forth, looking for an escape from the intruders.

"ALPH, LOOK OUT. BEHIND YOU!" he screamed out. It was too late. Alph dropped to his knees, as the thick red blood gushed out of him at an alarming rate. His hand was on his sword; he was about to draw. It was too late.

Theo stood there, confused at what had just happened. And with a few more seconds, he, too, had been killed. There was no warning. Theo slowly dragged his ragged body next to his brothers, his breathing becoming shallower by the second. He slowly closed his eyes; never to open them again.

He stared in awe, in horror; in absolute agony. His best friends stripped from him in a matter of seconds. He tried to scream or yell, but his voice failed him. He was paralyzed. Unable to lift a limb to help. Unable to get revenge.

The invaders wore identical uniforms. Deep blue collared shirts with tight fitting pants. Each one had a bright green bandana tried around their left arm, directly above their biceps. They wielded swords, which they used to mercilessly cut down anyone in their path.

After they finished the sweep within that room, they moved deeper into the church. They left him alive; they had missed him. He didn't know whether to be relieved or mortified. Was life worth living within his only friends?

He started to sob. Quietly at first in order to avoid detection. But soon the grief overwhelmed him. He started to wail out loud in order to express his anger, his depression, but most of all; his pain.

You're so weak. Weak weak weak. You couldn't protect your friends. What kind of useless person are you. You didn't even move. You didn't retaliate. You could have saved their lives. You could have prevented this. You're too weak. Useless. Powerless. They're gone all gone. You're alone. No one to help you, no one to sympathize with. You're weak. You're alone.

The thoughts mobbed his mind, repeating over and over like a mantra.

Hours later, he found himself able to move. He slowly made his way over to the now lifeless bodies of his closest friends. Alph had a long gash running along his back, which had inevitably made him bleed to death. Theo was more fortunate, and his vein was cut, as well as the nerve, indicating a relatively painless death.

As he looked into their dead lifeless eyes he once again committed himself to grief. He curled up into the fetal position. Wishing that it was only a dream; some weird twisted nightmare that he would soon wake up from.

It wasn't fair. Why did they die? What heinous crime did they commit? Only bad guys die right, the good guys are supposed to win! They have to win. Or there will be no good. But they're gone. You're alone. You let them die. You couldn't protect them. It's your fault.

Leon woke up in a cold sweat. It was that nightmare again, that dream had been more and more frequent. After taking a deep long sigh, he got himself out of bed.

Groggily, he slowly made his way over to the washroom. He looked at himself in the mirror, and grunted at the reminder of the previous adventure they had had. His defined muscles were proof of his endless training for strength.

There was a deep scar on his left part of his abdomen, just below his chest. It was in the form of a cross, which boldly stood out whenever his shirt was not present. It was a constant reminder of the near-death experience the he had gone through.

He was on his own mission : his mission to avenge his father. He had come close before, and would have actually succeeded by now, if only Andre hadn't pulled that cheap trick and used an innocent girl as a hostage.

How such a lowly being could have killed his father was beyond him.

He slowly turned the water on, and splashed a good amount on his face. The refreshing feeling of awareness suddenly rushing through his body sent chills down his spine. It was time to continue his mission. For revenge… and for power.

The power to defend; the power to protect; the power to make a difference.